Warning: N/A

Chapter 11- Weakness

Draco felt… lost. He felt like he was admitting defeat by being here. It wasn't the fact that he was asking for help. No, he'd done that plenty of times before. And no matter how rare those occasions had been, he knew he could do it. It was the fact that he was here specifically. Standing on the threshold of Lupin's office, trying to decide whether he should go in, and he felt like a fool for even considering it at all.

He should just trust his father, right? He should just trust himself. But then even his own conscience was telling him that he couldn't handle his werewolf side on his own anymore. Besides, the fact that Severus had agreed with him. And if Severus had suggested reaching out to Lupin then Draco could only assume that it was serious.

But he still couldn't shake the feeling that he was giving something profound up by being here. By asking for Lupin's help. Like he was admitting he wasn't strong enough.

He sighed, reaching for the door handle. It didn't matter. This was for Harry. For Harry, he couldn't have another werewolf meltdown. And if that meant being weak, then he supposed he would have to do it.

Lupin looked up as soon as the door swung forward, open surprise on his face. Draco couldn't help comparing him to Lucius or Severus. They would never have been caught dead looking surprised, even if they had felt it. He wondered if Lupin really hadn't felt him hovering outside his door for so long, or if he was just pretending to try and make Draco feel at ease.

It didn't work.

"Draco," he said, half standing. "Do you need something?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't," he answered, and Lupin's eyebrows furrowed. He came further into the room, keep a good couple of meters between himself and Lupin.

"I suppose," Lupin said, and they were standing and staring at each other, and Draco supposed he was supposed to be asking what he wanted to ask, but he just couldn't.

"Is this about the paper I assigned you this week?" Lupin asked, but Draco could tell by the way he tilted his head that he knew that wasn't the case. He wondered vaguely why Lupin was being dense. Did he really want to hear Draco say it so badly?

"No."

"Oh?"

"I…" his voice trailed off, and there was a long awkward beat of silence, before Lupin spoke.

"Why are you here, Draco?"

"I…" he trailed off again, eyes flicking away before he could get the sentence out. Lupin sighed heavily, sitting down and gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

"Why don't you sit? I have a feeling we're going to be here for a while."

"I don't want to sit."

"Then stand," Lupin answered. "But you can't avoid this conversation forever," he paused, but Draco still said nothing. "I suppose you're here about the full moon next week?"

"I-," Draco started and then let out a breath. This at least was easier. "Yes," he took a few careful steps forward, coming close enough to talk comfortably with Lupin but still refusing to sit.

"You've already been through two full moons, I'm sure you have an idea of what to expect. Why come to me now?"

"I wanted to ask you something?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you take the Wolfsbane?" he asked, and Lupin raised one dark eyebrow at him, but Draco held his gaze. He could judge him if he wanted, but he needed to know the answer.

"Because I don't want to hurt anyone."

"And have you? Ever hurt anyone?"

"Of course," Lupin answered in a low puff of breath, and he sounded tired. Tired and ashamed, and Draco almost felt bad asking. "There are always accidents."

"But does it really help?" Draco asked, his feet leading him forward without him really realizing. "If you take the Wolfsbane, and you still hurt people-."

"Why are you asking me this?" Lupin interrupted. "From what I understand, you had no desire to take the potion. As far as I know, your past two transformations were rather smooth, aside from the impending Deatheater attack."

Draco couldn't stop himself from turning away from Lupin on that. Sure, they'd been smooth. Except when he wasn't thinking clearly and tried to kiss Harry, and when he almost attacked Harry, Severus, and his father, because he was about to change. But other than that, peachy.

"I just want to know."

"What is this really about, Draco?" Lupin leans forward, his elbows on the desk. "You can tell me the truth; whatever you're going through, I've been through it too." And there was a long pause, where Lupin just stared at him, and Draco refused to look back, and he didn't know if he should tell Lupin or not—didn't know if he even could.

"Does this have something to do with Harry?" Lupin asked, and Draco was nodding before he could stop himself, ducking his head. And he felt ashamed, but no long sure of what.

"I can't control myself around him. When he's around it's like…. the anger or the lust just-."

"Ah," Lupin said, and Draco's head jerked up. "You've imprinted."

"What?"

"You feel overwhelming jealousy, anger, lust when you're touching. Maybe even anxiety when you don't know where he is?" Lupin asked, and Draco just turned his head away. "It's the werewolf side of you claiming Harry as your mate."

"What? But-."

"Obviously, you're not mated yet, but he's who you've chosen."

"And what am I supposed to do?" Draco asked, and he felt like he was drowning. How was he supposed to tell Harry that? How was he was he supposed to tell his father? Severus? Merlin, Severus was going to-

"You can't really do anything. You can learn to control it, but it'll never go away. Werewolves mate for life," Lupin answered, and his eyes were soft as he looked back at Draco. He got the feeling there was a story behind that statement, behind the look of sadness in his eyes, but Draco was too deep on his own panic to acknowledge it.

"But we're not mated," he said, and Lupin just shrugged, as if that tiny fact was inconsequential, and Draco wasn't sure if them being mated was a good thing or a bad thing.

Severus found Harry somewhere on his way back from the room of requirement. He was gripping the diadem between his hands so hard, his knuckles were beginning to hurt. And he could tell from the way Severus was looking at him that he knew. And Harry didn't think he could take the same pity he'd seen from Weasley in Severus' eyes.

"What are you doing?" Severus asked.

"Walking, and what are you doing?" he answered, ignoring the way Severus frowned at him. "Besides, bothering me, that is."

"What do you have?"

"Nothing."

"Really?" Severus answered, and his eyebrows raised in that disbelieving way that Harry hated. And he really just wanted to be left alone, but somehow, he knew that Severus wasn't going to do that. Not this time. No matter how hard Harry pushed.

"Yes," he snapped.

"Don't be a child, Potter," Severus answered, one eyebrow raised. "Tell me what's going on." And was enough to snap what little self-control Harry had left.

"I'm not weak," he said, and Severus' eyebrow rose even higher.

"I never said you were."

"Except that everyone keeps looking at me like I'm going to break," Harry snapped, and he was trying. He was trying so hard to be angry. To be angry or furious or anything but hurt or scared, but he just couldn't summon the emotion. And it was worse that Severus seemed to know it. "Draco… He-, and then Weasley acted like I was so broken I was acting irrationally," and part of him knew he sounded irrational, but he wasn't broken. He wasn't. "I'm not weak," he told Severus. As if saying it would somehow convince everyone around him, when he knew he was walking around crying and spouting feelings and being hurt by the littlest words. "I'm not broken."

"No," Severus answered, and there was a look in his eyes that Harry hadn't seen before as he answered. Dark and sad, and Harry imagined it was the same way Severus had looked on those nights he'd pushed him out of his room after Vernon. "You're not weak, and you're not broken," Severus paused, looking down at him so seriously Harry felt the need to run. Just turn around and run before he had to face whatever Severus would say to him, whatever Severus would make him face. "But that doesn't mean you don't need help."

"I don't want help," Harry answered, and he felt like he was choking.

"That doesn't mean you don't need it," Severus said. Harry was choking on his tears, and the trembling of his hands, and the way Severus was looking at him—not in pity but in understanding. And it hurt.

"I just want it to stop."

"I know, but what you want and what you need are two different things right now."

Abraxas was a cruel father. Abraxas didn't hit him or really ever lay a hand on him or anything of the sort, but it was the things he said that were cruel. He believed in pureblood supremacy with a passion that made other purebloods follow him. He believed that purebloods deserved to rule the world with a hunger in his eyes that he used for very little else.

Abraxas taught him while he was young that there was no greater sin than to abandon tradition. While he was in school, Abraxas continued to teach him pureblood tradition. Abraxas would keep him up late into the night during the summer telling stories about the Malfoy ancestors, about the things he would need to know when he was head of the family, about how he would need to marry a real pureblood woman.

When Abraxas found out he'd fallen in love with a half-blood man, the gauntlet had been thrown. He'd tried to fight his father. He'd even visited Severus; he'd told Narcissa he didn't love her. Abraxas didn't care; he'd never cared. Tradition was what mattered. And after Severus had turned him away he'd supposed Abraxas had been right. Pureblood traditions were better than feelings.

Even after he married Narcissa, even after Abraxas had died, even after he'd had Draco, even after Severus had started speaking to him again, he hadn't been able to step away from the lessons his father had taught him. Traditions were the things that were steady. The things that didn't change. The things to be relied on.

If there was one sin he didn't know how to commit, it was to forget tradition. To forget pureblood supremacy.